


Awakening

by Mina Lightstar (ukefied)



Series: esper_cave selections [1]
Category: Final Fantasy VI
Genre: Gen, World of Ruin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-10-26
Updated: 2008-10-26
Packaged: 2017-10-23 15:45:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/252073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ukefied/pseuds/Mina%20Lightstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Locke wakes up alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Part of a series for esper_cave: 1. Reasons; 20. Dreams; 42. Fear; 52. Ruin; 78. Apart.

It's a habit, now: She sits at the kitchen table of her makeshift nursing home, waits for the water to boil, and looks out at the red, red sky. She's already forgetting what it used to look like. Outside her home, men, women, and children alike are still slowly, almost hesitantly, rebuilding Maranda for the second time in their lives. They only really began a two months ago; the first three were spent despairing, mourning, and recovering.

The kettle screeches, demanding to be taken off the stove. With a sigh, she lifts herself from the chair to go pour the steaming water into a bowel. Armed with the bowel and clean cloths, she prepares for another day of playing nursemaid.

Sarah spends a lot of time with broken souls, still. It's been five months since the world changed, but some folk, well, some folk just don't adjust as quick as others. And then there're other folk, the badly injured, who have yet to wake up in this new world – if they wake up at all. She has done all she can, but she works no miracles.

The door to the first room is open, because Antony – pulled from a felled building's foundation – does not like to be confined.

"Good morning, Antony," she says on her way by. He doesn't answer, never has. Hasn't spoken a word since the Change. The little boy spends most of his days lying in bed, traumatized and depressed. These things take time.

She has to open the second door, and stops short when she sees that one of her patients is not only awake, but sitting upright. "Goodness," she breathes, smoothing her excitement over with calm. No good to be getting him riled up, no good at all. "How are you feeling?"

He blinks his blue eyes at her, touches the bandage wound tight 'round his head, and winces. "What happened?"

Ah. Now, that's the question they all ask. Not, "where am I," or "who are you," or anything else. They saw what was happening, before they were hurt. They want to know what they missed while they were asleep, with no concept of time.

Sarah takes a deep breath. The next part is the hardest. "Are you strong enough to hear it, yet?"

"Kefka," he says instead, frowning downward, trying to recall, "with the Statues... he was...."

"One could say Kefka rules us now," Sarah explains, coming around to his bed so she can check on him. "Kefka and his Light of Judgement." At his incredulous expression, she elaborates, "It was Kefka who broke the world, reshaped it like this. Whatever power he acquired, he uses it now to make examples of those who would oppose him."

Her patient's eyes are unfocused, looking within at some inner fear. "The world...?" He scrambles from his sheets, ignoring Sarah's protests, and looks out the window. You can't see much from Maranda -- just a town leveled by the Empire -- but you can see the sky, and the grass.

Sarah breathes in deeply through her nose. "The world is a very different place now."

"I was hoping I'd dreamt the entire thing," he replies quietly, and sits back down on the bed. "Did you find me?"

"No," Sarah answers, "maybe. I don't recall; it's been five months, and--"

He glances up at her, eyes focused. "Did you find anyone else with me, near me? What about an airship -- or, or what was left of it?"

She shakes her head once, twice, very slowly. "I'm sorry. I have several rooms here... you can see if you recognize anyone, but... please don't strain yourself. Don't undo all I've done."

He blinks, and then lifts up his shirt, feeling the bandages around his ribs. Suddenly withdrawn, he surrenders to her ministrations and then asks to be left alone.

She grants him his request, and shuts the door behind her. Alone, she permits herself to marvel at the young man's recovery. She _does_ remember when he was brought in, broken and nearly lost. And if he did fall from an airship, as he claims, then it's a _miracle_ he survived.

***

Locke did not intend to fall asleep again, but when he wakes up for the second time in five months, he curses himself for wasting time. _You've had enough rest,_ he scolds, and sits up.

He is glad the nursemaid did not question his altogether speedy recovery, because he does not have an answer that he is _sure of_ , even though he has a very good idea. Making sure he is alone, he closes his eyes, cups his hands over his heart, and releases the Magicite he bonded with months ago.

It's warm -- in his heart, and then in his hands. He opens his eyes and beholds his savior, Kirin. The stone glistens in the morning light. "Thank you," he whispers. There can be no other reason for his survival, given the apparent severity of his injuries. The Esper's power of gradual regeneration is what kept him alive until help arrived. "Thank you."

Bonding with Kirin once again, his thoughts turn to his allies, his friends -- everyone on the Blackjack. He remembers jumping from the Floating Island, remembers Setzer's frenzied piloting, remembers Kefka unleashing the Goddesses's powers upon the world. Their airship was torn in two, everyone was thrown from the deck, Locke lost his grip on Celes's hand....

 _Calm down,_ he tells himself. _Be realistic. You survived... so maybe...._

He glances about the room at his fellow injured, and whispers a few arcane words of a language he does not understand, but _knows._ A Cure spell sweeps its way across the room, touching each person with its sweet warmth and helping to coax them out of their comas. He cannot heal them like this; curative spells require almost as much effort from the target as from the caster. However, he can help.

Locke visits each room, checking for familiar faces and casting Cure. He does not find anyone he knows.

Remaining optimistic, he concludes this does not mean any of his friends died near Maranda.

***

Three days later, he feels up to the rest of his life.

"I have to leave," he announces to Sarah, shouldering his pack of belongings.

She pauses in the act of pouring her tea. "So soon?"

He shrugs. "I have things to take care of. Cataclysm's no excuse."

She looks at him, eyes lingering on every part of him that should be bandaged up, but isn't. "Locke, was it?"

"Ah."

"... Be careful. It's a different place, this World of Ruin."

"Yes," he agrees, solemn. "And I have to find my place in it."


	2. obsession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Locke tries again, fails again; before the Returners gave him more than a single purpose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Esper_cave: 18. Power; 61. Repeat; 63. Possession; 66. Fatigue; 79. Knowledge.

Almost as soon as he ascended to the throne, young King Edgar Roni Figaro made it known that Locke Cole was allowed in or out at any hour of the day, and that no restrictions were to be made on where he was allowed to go within the castle walls. So one night, in a fit of sleeplessness, Edgar goes to the library and finds Locke reading -- reading! -- by candlelight, his figure almost small against the mountain of books stacked next to him.

"Locke, what are you doing?"

" _Reading,_ " is the sarcastic reply.

"But reading what?" Edgar sits down across from him, picks up one book and blinks at the title. " _Lost Relics of the Magi_?"

"There's one in Figaro," Locke explains, and Edgar realizes that he's sketching a map from the book. "I'm going to get it right now."

"Tonight?" Edgar blinks.

"Can't waste any time. Heard it from someone in South Figaro's pub, and looks like a lot of people might be looking for it. I've got to get it first." Finished his makeshift map, Locke folds the loose paper and shoves it into his jacket pocket. He grins at Edgar, but the smile looks forced. "Dangerous business, treasure-hunting."

Edgar is quietly surprised at his friend's condition. Locke looks exhausted: Thick dark rings under his eyes, unkempt hair, and a pale complexion. _He hasn't gotten any better,_ Edgar realizes. _I should make him stop, I should--_

"See you later, Edgar." He hops out of his chair and heads for the door. "Thanks for the research books."

 _Well, I can't sleep, anyway._ "Wait, wait! I'm coming with you."

***

As it turns out, the stone formation Locke is looking for isn't so far away from Figaro Castle. They make a picket line for the chocobos and Locke grabs the shovel he brought. Even in the cold desert night, he takes off his jacket.

While Locke digs -- vigorously, purposefully -- Edgar takes the papers out of his jacket pocket and reads them. They are mostly scribbled notes in Locke's squarish handwriting, but Edgar gets the gist of it.

"A stone that can restore life?" he asks incredulously.

Locke pauses, but doesn't look back at him. "It's said to 'wake those who have succumbed to fiery fever,' and 'bring water where once was none.' A magic stone that can restore life."

Edgar has entertained several unbelievable theories ever since the death of Locke's fiancee, but this... "Locke... the text in those books has been translated and reprinted a dozen times. It could be a mistake, something lost in translation, or a complete fabrication--"

The shovel clatters against the rocks and Locke turns on him, eyes wild. "It's _all I have!_ " he shouts, and then takes a deep, shaky breath. "If you aren't going to help, _go home._ "

"Locke...." But his friend is already kneeling in the sand, pulling at something. To Edgar's surprise, Locke procures a small, reddish stone.

"This is it!" he exclaims, presenting it to Edgar. "This could be _it!_ "

Edgar doesn't dare contradict him. In the year since Rachel's death, Edgar has watched his friend descend from depression to guilt-fueled searching, totally consumed by the idea that Rachel's death was his fault and somehow, he must atone by _bringing her back_.

The worst of it is, no one can convince him otherwise.

***

Edgar follows Locke back to Kohlingen, to pick up the pieces he know will break. After all, one can't bring someone back from the dead. It's impossible, ludicrous.

 _Desperate._

When Locke presents the red stone to the man only known as the Patriarch, the eccentric seizes it eagerly and inspects it thoroughly. Locke keeps walking, and stands next to Rachel's body. Edgar doesn't miss the way his fingers touch her face.

"Well?" Edgar asks.

"Well?" the Patriarch replies. "Well, what! Uwaa, haha! You should have told me you were going after a Sandruby! I would have set you straight _straight_ away, haha!"

"What?!" Locke gasps, turning from his sleeping lover's form.

The Patriarch holds up the stone. "This here's a _Sandruby_. Still a rare find, but it ain't no life-bearing fruit, if you know what I mean! Shaving off some of its dust and boiling it with _certain herbs_ will mix you a nice antidote for that good old desert fever! Won't bring any lost loves back to life, though. Uwaa haha!"

Edgar's heart breaks when he sees Locke's hope shattered, yet again. He notably does not look at Edgar -- just at Rachel, and not for long. His knees buckle, and the next moment, he's on the floor by her bed, face buried against her mattress, arms covering his head.

Edgar grabs the Patriarch's arm and ushers him out of the basement. He doesn't think Locke wants anyone to watch him cry.


End file.
